


Enjoy the silence

by epithalamium



Series: When the sky is blue [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Love Poems, M!Dimileth, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, No Spoilers, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Propositions, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29426973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epithalamium/pseuds/epithalamium
Summary: 'That sort of person is usually pursued,' said Sylvain, leaning close to Dimitri. 'And seldom the pursuer.''Are we still talking about this?''So what it boils down to,' Sylvain went on, 'is who would ask him first?'Or: Dimitri thirsts for his professor in two thousand words (or less).
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Series: When the sky is blue [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005819
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Enjoy the silence

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Why is there no chocolate in Fódlan? 
> 
> The title is from the Depeche Mode song, and it's because 'words are very unnecessary/they can only do harm'. c':

'He's the type who won't act on his own desires,' said Sylvain. 'Because he doesn't understand them.' 

Dimitri had been busy examining the food on his plate--he couldn't taste anything and had to rely on his other senses, but this didn't look or smell like anything he'd encountered before. He looked up when Sylvain stopped talking, presumably to wait for his reply. 'Yes?' 

'The professor,' said Sylvain, pointing with his chin at Professor Byleth, who was sharing a meal with Mercedes and Annette at the next table. 

'Oh,' said Dimitri. He tried to focus on the mystery meal again, but he was thinking of everything he had ever said to Sylvain since they'd arrived at the Academy and every moment Sylvain might have noticed him staring at the professor when he thought no one else was looking. 'What do you mean?'

'What I said,' said Sylvain, grinning. 'That sort of person is usually pursued and seldom the pursuer.' 

'That's rather rude, don't you think?' said Dimitri. 'Do you presume to know the professor so well?' 

'I presume nothing.' Sylvain stood up with his plate still half-full. 'Do you reckon the horses would eat this?' 

'It's no good to waste food.' Dimitri took another cautious bite of his own mystery meal. 'Perhaps the poultry will eat it.' 

'As long as it's not me,' said Sylvain. 'I don't know how you're doing it.' 

'We need to keep our strength up.' 

'It's bland, Dimitri,' said Sylvain. 'But still somehow has a rank aftertaste. It's a crime against humanity.' 

'Now,' said Dimitri. 'There's no reason to hurt the cook's feelings. They did their best.' 

'That's me,' said Annette, raising her hand. 'I'm sorry. It was a monumental failure.' 

'It's edible,' said the professor. He seemed to not have realised his words would deal the final blow to Annette, who pressed her forehead against the table. 

'I'm very sorry.' 

'No,' said the professor. 'It's fine, Annette.' 

'I wanted to try out the things I learned from Dedue,' said Annette, her voice muffled against the table. 'But cooking with unfamiliar spices is more complex than I first thought.' 

'This might be poor comfort,' said the professor, reaching out to pat Annette's back. 'But I've had worse in my days as a mercenary.' 

'Let's think of it as a learning experience,' said Mercedes. 'At least that's what Ashe tells me whenever I make a mistake in the kitchen.' 

'And Dimitri's right,' said the professor. His eyes met Dimitri's and Dimitri tried not to choke on his food. 'We do appreciate your efforts.' 

'Thank you,' said Annette, finally looking up. 

'That was handled smoothly,' said Sylvain, leaning close to Dimitri. 'He fulfills the role needed of him, do you see?' 

'Are we still talking about this?' 

'So what it boils down to,' Sylvain went on, 'is who would ask him first?' 

Dimitri watched Sylvain leave the dining hall with his plate.

'Where are you taking that?' said Annette. 

'To feed the ducks,' said Sylvain. 

Those who heard this exchange laughed and Annette looked ready to start bowing again when the professor raised a hand and said, 'Well now.' 

His voice was quiet, but the students who'd been teasing and making jokes at Annette's expense settled down, a few of them with sheepish looks on their faces as they returned to their meal. The professor was a figure of authority, of course, but he was also the infamous Ashen Demon; no one wanted to get in his bad books. 

Dimitri watched the professor give Annette an encouraging smile before taking deliberate bites of his food. 

Seldom the pursuer, unless the role was required of him. 

Dimitri thought of control. And need. 

And the words to a question.

*

He bided his time. There was a finality to an answered question, a step that couldn't be taken back. No matter the urgency Sylvain had implied, Dimitri had his reservations.

He didn't doubt his feelings, of course, that was never in question. But his future _was_.

Dimitri sighed and looked at the pile of books on his desk. Just when he'd thought he'd exhausted all the resources available in the library of Garreg Mach, the professor had taken him to the Forbidden Library of Abyss where he found books he hadn't even known existed. Most of them were useless in his research, but provided some entertainment when he needed to take a rest. 

He opened one such book now, a slim volume with the title 'Poems to Saint Seiros' embossed on the cover. At first glance, one would assume it was a collection of the many religious poems written in honour of the saint, if not for the author's initials: WH. 

There were stories told by Dimitri's wet nurse and the old knights of Fhirdiad who kept the old traditions; Saint Seiros the victorious, assisted and loved by Wilhelm von Hresvelg. The same man who would later become the first Emperor of Adrestia. 

Hard to imagine a book of poems written by Wilhelm the First to survive after centuries, but perhaps copies had been made after his time. 

Dimitri turned the page and almost gasped when he saw the Emperor's name in fine and faded print under the title. He read on, intending only to read a poem or two before going back to Cichol's war treatises, but he found himself drawn to Wilhelm's turbulent emotions, the joys and uncertainties of being loved by someone who wasn't quite human. 

Your words of love are those that cut deep;  
I bleed through a cycle of love and healing  
but you, beloved, are most constant.   
You'll remain, as strong and beautiful as fresh memory,  
when I'm no more than a shadow of dust.   
Would my name fall from your lips as I sleep? 

And written below, in faded ink, were a few lines: 

'Does it matter?   
I am here now, awake. And listening.' 

'Professor.'

Dimitri had forgotten where he was until he heard someone speak, loud but deliberate, the accent dripping with traditions as rich as Dimitri's own. A noblewoman. When she spoke again, Dimitri recognised Constance's voice.

'What brings you here?' 

'I wanted to look for books about Duscur,' said the professor. 

Like a child caught with one hand in the biscuit tin, Dimitri found his face growing warm at the sound of the professor's voice. 

'Are you thinking of a topic in particular?' said Constance. 'It's not my expertise, but I help the librarians with the catalogue when I have time to spare.' 

'Gardens,' said the professor. 'Herb gardens, but anything would be of great help.' 

Dimitri heard approaching footsteps, saw the faint glow of mage lights joining his own, before he saw Constance and the professor walking towards his desk. Carefully and without appearing to hurry, Dimitri picked up Cichol's treatise again and placed it on top of Wilhelm the First's poems.

'Dimitri,' said the professor. 'Still at your research?' 

'Indeed,' said Dimitri, banishing words of love and devotion from his mind. He was thinking of war tactics. There was nothing in his mind but fortifications and trebuchets. 'There are books Seteth had deemed too bloody for the faint hearts of the populace.' 

Constance laughed. 'And here I thought I'd never agree with a lord of Faerghus.' 

'We'll leave you to it, then,' said the professor. He placed a hand on Dimitri's desk before moving on, pale hand usually gloved in black leather and currently stained with ink. 

Dimitri thought of pressing his lips against that hand, running his tongue against the calluses of the professor's fingers, the professor's hands against his skin, holding him-- 

He was thinking of trebuch--no. Of swords and spears. He was not thinking. 

He was going to ask the question.

*

Dimitri had almost despaired of being able to talk to the professor in private. The man never seemed to do anything alone; from tending to his plants in the greenhouse to feeding the cats of Garreg Mach, someone was bound to drop whatever they were doing to join him.

But Sylvain had begged off his assigned task of weeding the courtyards and Dimitri was left to report alone to the professor at the end of the week. He held his question ready at the back of his throat as he knocked on the professor's door. 

'What happened to Sylvain?' said the professor, looking over Dimitri's shoulders, as if Sylvain--who was taller than Dimitri--could be hiding behind him. 

'He said he wasn't feeling well,' said Dimitri. He sounded convincing only because he was simply relaying a message: Sylvain _had_ said he wasn't feeling well. Whether that was the truth or not was yet to be proven. 

'Hm,' said the professor, rubbing a finger against his lower lip. 'It's unlike you to let this go.'

'Perhaps,' said Dimitri. 'He once told me the heart is not to be swayed by a simple reminder of one's responsibilities.' 

'True emotions would not fold under logic,' said the professor. 'He might have told me the same,' he added, at Dimitri's raised eyebrow. 

'Would you say you agree with him?'

Every week since his admission to the Academy, Dimitri and one of his classmates had gone to the professor's office to give their progress report. Dimitri always stopped a few steps from the door, the gesture an unspoken assurance that he knew the professor was busy and so wouldn’t take long. This time he moved forward, catching the slight widening of the processor’s eyes before the professor schooled his expression into polite interest. 

'I respect how my students feel,' said the professor, after a moment's worth of consideration. 'But I also have my responsibilities.' 

'Hm,' said Dimitri, leaning forward. The movement brought him close enough he could see how the colour of the professor's eyes was only a few shades darker than his eyelashes. 

The professor remained where he was, his hip pressed against the edge of his desk. 'I'm your teacher.' 

'And I'm the Crown Prince of Faerghus.' 

'Is that a threat?' said the professor. He sounded amused, the corners of his mouth moving into a small smile, and Dimitri had to gather all the self-control instilled by frugal Faerghus traditions just to stop himself from reaching out and pressing his thumb against the professor's lips. 

'No,' said Dimitri, with a soft laugh. 'I just wanted to point out that the advantage depends on how you frame it.' 

'Very prettily done,' said the professor. 'Where did you learn that?' 

'I do read books, professor.' 

The professor laughed silently and Dimitri felt the professor's breath on his face. 

'Of course,' said the professor. 'But that's not what I meant.' 

'Will you explain?' Dimitri had said the same words many times before in class. 

'Where did you learn to speak like this?' 

Dimitri smiled and raised one hand. His knuckles almost but not quite brushed against the professor's jaw. 

'You,' said Dimitri. He didn't touch the professor. 'You taught me how to speak like this.' 

The professor's eyes had grown darker. 'I don't remember doing that.' 

'Then perhaps,' said Dimitri, allowing his hand to fall back to his side, 'you might want to teach me again.' 

The professor opened his mouth, but Dimitri cut him off, 'Sometime.' 

The professor looked away and smiled, a smile that was more for himself than Dimitri. 'Perhaps.' 

Dimitri bowed before taking his leave of the professor, closing the door behind him and hoping the professor hadn't noticed his shaking hands.

*

In the darkness of his room later that night, Dimitri sank into bed and thought of the professor's secret smile.

In time, the future would demand Dimitri to pay his dues to the dead. But for now he had his answered question. For now he could pretend he'd come back and take what he had claimed.

*

**Author's Note:**

> • In my multichapter fic, 'Achievable perfection', Ingrid quotes the first line of the poem written above. 
> 
> I wanted to write a romantic poem!! Because it's Valentine's day!! But I'm tone deaf. _(┐ε: )_ I can't even try to write in blank verse (which is what a lot of Shakespearean plays were written in), because I uh, can't hear the iambic pentameter? Ahah! Free verse is too modern for Fódlan, probably, but it's the best I can do. :'D 
> 
> • It's said in a book from Abyss that the Church of Seiros put a stop to the use of the newly invented movable type because 'peasants can't read'. Uh, that would impact the development of literature in the continent, won't it? And yet we have romances and tales of heroic deeds like the ones Ingrid and Ashe talk about. Would anyone really be able to afford books if they were all written by monks?? 
> 
> Anyway uh. I think those are printed books when I write about them. Sorry, Intsys....


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